


Heal Our Scars

by galaxystarheart



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Can this be tagged as hurt/comfort?, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sledge and Snafu are idiots, idk I’m new to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:45:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystarheart/pseuds/galaxystarheart
Summary: A man steps off a train with a heavy heart, every part of him aching with the weight of what he’s done- who the war has made him; who he is- and the weight of what feels to him like leaving his whole soul behind. Some of it had been lost to the islands, he thinks- blown away in the depths of a battle or drained from him as the fatigue set in, leaking into the depths of restless nights and unspeakable days- while the rest is pulling away from the station, left behind with no goodbyes.Hours later, another man wakes up alone. He’s confused for a moment, finding himself alone where there was once the welcome presence of another, then distraught when he’s told by another returning soldier that he’ll never get to say goodbye.





	Heal Our Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this isn’t terrible. I’m not actually done watching The Pacific yet, and I wrote this in one day for a friend’s birthday without editing. 
> 
> Also, it’s my first time posting something here, so please be nice and forgive my stupidity.

A man steps off a train with a heavy heart, every part of him aching with the weight of what he’s done- who the war has made him; who he is- and the weight of what feels to him like leaving his whole soul behind. Some of it had been lost to the islands, he thinks- blown away in the depths of a battle or drained from him as the fatigue set in, leaking into the depths of restless nights and unspeakable days- while the rest is pulling away from the station, left behind with no goodbyes.

Hours later, another man wakes up alone. He’s confused for a moment, finding himself alone where there was once the welcome presence of another, then distraught when he’s told by another returning soldier that he’ll never get to say goodbye. It’s comparable to what he felt in the midst of the war, he thinks, the grief he feels at the abrupt loss of someone so, so important to him that he was far from prepared for. This time, though, it’s by choice. For whatever reason he was left alone without a parting word, without any means of contact. He can only think that maybe he never meant as much to Snafu as Snafu meant to him. Maybe Snafu didn’t want to talk to him one last time. Maybe he just wanted to leave the burdens of the war behind him as soon as he could, Eugene Sledge included. 

Years pass, only a few, but without the other by his side each man finds himself growing more lost and miserable with every day that goes by. Coming home is lonely, for the man with no family and the man with quite a bit, and though Eugene has support from people who understand what it was like, he finds nothing that can quite fill the hole that’s formed deep in his chest. Snafu- Merriel, now that he’s left the war behind him- has no support at all. 

It’s hard for the two of them to reacquaint themselves with home, with life rather than death or fear of it. Surviving has become a habit that they find hard to break, and in a world where their survival is no longer at so much risk they still can’t find it in them to really let themselves live. They’re haunted, sleepless, hurting, and while the world forces at least one of them to get on with his life neither of them ever seem to shake the weight of the war from their shoulders.

Eugene finds Snafu the subject of his thoughts more often than not as time goes on. He finds himself thinking of when he first met him, of how they grew closer with each day they spent fighting side by side or curled up in foxholes on dark nights, of how the war and their fear drew them together- just them- closer than any others in their company, of how he’d kissed Snafu once, an impulse, and how Snafu had returned it eagerly, feverishly. How it had happened again, how they grew ever closer than before, and how Snafu left him on that train without saying goodbye. 

It hurts, more than anything. Eugene spends his days in his parents’ home, or just outside to smoke- a habit his parents highly disapprove of but he can’t seem to shake- sitting curled up with his knees to his chest, a cup of coffee in one hand, the pipe he picked up during the war in the other, and painful memories swirling in his head. Day in and day out he’s told he needs to move on, to go to school, get a job, but he can’t. He can’t pull himself from the thoughts and the memories and the echoes even if he tries, can’t seem to focus on anything else.

One day, tired and broken and hurting as always, he makes a decision- he needs to know, needs to find a way to escape the hurt; the ceaseless wishing and wondering. He gets up, gets dressed, and leaves the house telling his parents only that he’s going to the post office. He hasn’t written a letter, has nothing to send, but he’s decided that he needs to know the address of Merriel Shelton. He doesn’t yet know what he’ll do with it- hasn’t thought about that at all, but it’s a step in the right direction. It has to be.

“There’s no address on record for Merriel Shelton,” He’s told. No address, only the post office from which he picks up any mail he may receive. Eugene could still send a letter, yes, but the news makes him feel crushed all the same. It’s this that makes him realize that his sudden desperation to know Snafu’s address was not to send him a letter, it was a desperation to see him again. To hear his voice. To ask him why and to hear his response. There’s no phone number on record for him either. No hope, except for a letter that Snafu may not even bother to read. 

Eugene Sledge goes home and goes back to bed.

Later that night and miles away, a crumpled piece of paper falls to the floor of a small, already messy, run down apartment- not much more than a room. It’s followed by another, and another, each stained with ink and emotion and hope and fear, but not enough of any of it. Before long they’re joined by an empty pen (which had already been well on its way to uselessness when it had been picked up from the ground near the post office), ink replaced by lead from the stub of a pencil hastily retrieved from the depths of a nearby drawer. 

Merriel Shelton has never been the best with words- though god knows he’s always talked enough to fool everyone within hearing range. His sharp tongue and clever wit have always been enough to get him by, though they often led others to dislike him. It never much bothered him, but in matters such as this- important words, for important reasons, for an important person, things he can’t allow himself to screw up- they’ve always failed to aid him. Cursing his lack of eloquence, he starts again and wishes he knew how the fuck to start a letter.

Eventually, he sends one, getting the address he needs from the post office and hastily writing it on the provided envelope, handing it over before he can change his mind. He knows it’s a bad idea- he’s been telling himself that for days, months even- but his stupid, desperate, aching heart won over rational thought in the end. After all, Sledge could always ignore it if he’s come to his senses and realized he deserves something far better than a poor boy from Louisiana. 

The letter isn’t the best- far from it, really- it’s short, he never quite figured out how to properly start it, and most of it was written throughout a few days in a state of exhaustion after he returned from work. He hopes with every inch of hope left in him that it’s enough. Enough to what, he isn’t sure. To fill that empty space inside him maybe. To give some sort of end to this whole thing. Maybe then he can move on, as Sledge likely had a long time ago. He walks home with his heart pounding from anxiety rather than the weight he’s been feeling for years, and he doesn’t find it any easier to deal with.

“You have a letter,” Eugene’s mother tells him with a smile when he trudges down from his room on an average Tuesday morning not long after. There are bags beneath his eyes, exhaustion written across his frame as it is every day despite his repeated attempts to sleep. His nightmares have been getting worse by the day, and at this point he’s considering trying not to sleep as a better alternative. His parents hate seeing him this way but they have no idea how to help him, if they even can.

“A letter?” He responds, a note of confusion in his voice. He hasn’t gotten much mail since he returned aside from colleges pestering him to enroll and the odd offer for him to join groups meant to help returning soldiers cope. He’s ignored them all.

His father hands him the letter. “It’s from someone called ‘Snafu,’ quite a strange name. Did you meet him in the-“

Eugene stares down at the letter in his hands, completely losing track of his father’s words as he stares at the chicken-scratch handwriting on the outside of the envelope. It’s from Snafu, addressed to him. It’s from Snafu. A whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirls within him as he brushes his thumb over the name, so overwhelming that for a split second he can’t find a breath of air in his lungs. He’s stunned, he’s hopeful, he’s terrified, he’s angry because it’s been years of nothing after Snafu left him on that train and now suddenly there’s a letter in his hands.

He opens it. 

He reads it.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s sleep deprived and weak, maybe it’s that he thought he’d never hear from Snafu again, maybe it’s just that he’s missed him so damn much; he reads the letter again, and he cries.

It’s not the best letter, more than a little hard to read in Snafu’s horrendously messy handwriting, and Eugene doesn’t quite know what it means- does Snafu still care about him? Does he miss him, or not? It answers no questions, only creating new ones, but. Oh. He looks at the envelope again, and the return address isn’t the post office.

Merriel, as he has been every day recently, finds himself occupied with thoughts of the letter while at work. He wonders if Sledge has gotten it, if it’s been thrown away or kept, or if maybe- just maybe- a response is being written. Sledge, he hopes, has a life much better than his at the moment. Maybe by now he’s settled down with some pretty girl- dating one, at least- and as much as that hurts to think about Sledge definitely deserves it. He deserves happiness, with somebody good. 

While Merriel had- Merriel had cared about him during the war (not loved, he can’t say that. He can’t admit to himself that he loves Sledge when Sledge deserves so much better than him), he always knew that it wouldn’t last. Something would separate them. Whether it be a bullet, shrapnel, an explosion killing one of them (not Sledge, please not him), the test of time, or the fact that someone like Sledge could never be happy with him… This, whatever they were doing, wouldn’t exist outside of the war. Not for long. That’s why Merriel left- because he knew Sledge wouldn’t think of it that way. He wants to regret it, leaving Sledge behind, but it was for the better.

He gets home later that day, loathing the constant Louisiana heat and humidity that has carried over into the night. Though he’s used to it by now, he certainly doesn’t enjoy it any more than he ever has. He changes quickly from his work clothes into some more comfortable pants, forgoing a shirt because it’s too damn hot. He fishes a cigarette from the pocket of his work pants, wondering if he has enough food to put together a semi decent meal, but before he can light it he hears a sudden, loud banging on the door. Initially, he ducks- an old reflex from his time on the islands- then looks to the door, dumbstruck. Nobody’s knocked on his door for a very long time, so he stares in surprise until whoever it is bangs on the door yet again.

“I’m comin’,” he grumbles as he walks towards the door, already prepared to see the face of his annoying neighbor when he opens it. “What the hell do you w-“

It’s not his neighbor.

Eugene Sledge stares at Snafu, standing in the doorway of a run down, rickety, tiny little apartment, and he wonders if Snafu can see on his face, in his eyes, how vulnerable he feels. Vulnerable, and unsure, and tentative, and so, so scared and confused. 

“Snafu,” he says, quietly, but… as the name leaves his lips he realizes this isn’t the Snafu he knew. This is Merriel, the sharpness in his eyes Eugene had thought of as eternal melted away with days and weeks and years of exhaustion, too tired for the usual sharpness that comes with sleep deprivation. Eugene knows, because it’s been taxing for him too. There’s shock written in Snafu- in Merriel’s- big, beautiful eyes, and Eugene hopes that his appearance will be welcome; he doesn’t want to be shut out.

Merriel swallows once, twice, trying to find his voice, something to say- fuck, why does he have to be so bad at words- and then simply responds in that slow Louisiana drawl, “Sledgehammer.”

A flood of memories hits Eugene when he says it- the nickname he’d given him not long after they’d met. He thinks of the first time he’d heard him say it, and the second, and the third. He thinks of the first time they kissed, and Snafu had whispered it with a sort of reverence in his voice when they broke apart. He wants to kiss him again, just like he had back then. The urge to lean forward, cup Merriel’s face in his hands, and press their lips together is almost overwhelming. 

Then, Merriel continues, voice soft, “I’m guessin’ you got my letter.”

Eugene is reminded of reality; of Merriel standing right in front of him, different than before. Would he even still want him to kiss him? He doesn't know. “I-I had to see you,” he responds, throat dry. “Couldn’t get your address before, the post office didn’t have it.”

“Oh,” he answers. Still having trouble processing the situation, Merriel steps to the side of the doorway, a silent invitation for Eugene to enter, if he wants to. When he does Merriel doesn’t bother wasting time being embarrassed about the state of the place, far too caught up in the fact that Eugene is here, and he isn’t sure how to react to that. Out of all the things he expected to come from sending that letter, this possibility wasn’t even considered. 

Looking around the place, Eugene is struck by how damn small it is. He’d known Merriel was poor, but he didn’t even consider a crumbling apartment that’s only one room. He turns, sees Merriel closing the door behind him, and says simply, “I missed you.” Then, softer, before Merriel can respond, “why didn’t you wake me up?” He wants to be mad- wants to be angry that Merriel left him without a goodbye- but seeing him now, he can’t bring himself to be anything more than hurt.

Merriel takes a breath, trying to find the right words, and says, “Figured it would be easier that way.” It’s the wrong thing to say evidently, because Eugene’s face falls even more.

“Easier?” He responds, and Merriel hates the tone in his voice. Hates that he sounds so sad, hurt, accusing. As if it wasn’t the right thing to do. “Easier for you or for me?”

Turning towards the window, if only to escape that look in Eugene’s eyes, Merriel responds, “Both of us, I guess.”

“It wasn’t easy for me.”

Merriel winces. The thought that he hurt Eugene- badly enough that he sounds as if he might cry from it so many years later…. he doesn’t like it. “It wasn’t for me either,” he admits, looking back at him. “I’ve missed you too. How… How’ve you been? I told you ‘bout me in the letter, it’s only fair.”

It’s a feeble attempt at subtly trying to change the subject, but Eugene allows him to. He’s never heard him sound quite so vulnerable. So lost for words. So tired. So scared. Coming back, being alone, likely working day after day while Eugene sat at home doing nothing… It seems to have beat him down more than the war ever did. Or maybe it’s that he finally let the war’s trauma reach him, to really take hold.

“I haven’t been great,” he answers honestly. “Nightmares every night, can’t sleep, I haven’t gotten a job or gone to school like my parents want me to. I’ve just been sittin’ at home and… and wishin you were there.”

Merriel snorts. “Yeah, well, ‘s probably better I wasn’t. I’d be more of a damn burden than anything.”

“You wouldn’t,” Eugene assures him. “Not to me.”

“To your parents, then. And I’m sure you’d get tired of my annoyin’ ass eventually.” Self-loathing drips from his tongue, filling his eyes just before he tears them away from Eugene’s gaze once again. Snafu never hid like this, but Merriel does.

Eugene decides to put a stop to this. To try and fix it- to heal the wounds, or at least start to. He lifts a hand to gently cup Merriel’s sharp jaw, drawing him back so their gazes meet again. He fills his own with vulnerability and honesty and love, hoping Merriel will see. He allows a small smile to appear on his face and says, “I haven’t gotten tired of you yet.”

To his disappointment, Merriel frowns, pulling away from the touch that they both so desperately need. “You should,” he says. “You don’t need me, Eugene, I ain’t any good.”

“Any good at what?”

“Any good for you. ‘M not exactly the kinda person you can take home to your parents. You should go home and find some pretty girl-“

Eugene cuts him off. “What about during the war. I- we-“

“Gene, you don’t need me. We both needed it then, but you don’t need me now.”

“Yes, I do,” Eugene argues, desperate, and Merriel must see something in his eyes because his expression softens. He continues, “I’ve needed you every day since you left. I’ve missed you- I- shit, Merriel, I love you. I thought you felt the same.”

Merriel hesitates for just a moment, staring, and feels the weight of the past few years weighing down upon them both. They’re tired, they’re desperate, and he wants to be able to curl up with Eugene again like they had in their foxholes. He wants to kiss Eugene- to be close to him like he once had. He loves him too, and can’t deny it any longer. Suddenly, selfishly, he decides he doesn’t care about the consequences anymore. He grabs Eugene by the front of his shirt, pulls him forward, and kisses him as if neither of them could live without it.

Years later the two of them can be found somewhere else- in a much neater, nicer apartment not far from the campus of some fancy college. They start their mornings together, curled up in the bed they share- far different from a foxhole, much softer and safer. Together, day by day, they heal. Things improve as time goes by- they learn each other as Merriel and Eugene rather than Snafu and Sledge, separating themselves from who they were in the war. They soothe each other after nightmares, feel safer with the other there, and find that it’s far easier to cope when they aren’t alone.

It’s good, they think, and neither of them would trade it for the world.


End file.
